


Our Broken Parts

by BeforeDawn



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 19:38:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14220318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforeDawn/pseuds/BeforeDawn
Summary: A revelation shakes the Bradley household.





	Our Broken Parts

It’s dark when he finally gets home.

When King Bradley, formerly known as 12, was told that he was to be the future Fuhrer of the country, he was beyond elated, to know that he would be considered superior to the fragile things that call themselves humans, not only to himself and his _siblings_ , but to an entire nation, it was almost beyond belief.

What he did not expect, however, was for the job to contain so much _damn_ paperwork.

With a sigh, he runs a hand over his face and considers getting some food before bed, but on deciding that his tiredness outweighs his hunger, he heads to bed instead.

Bradley hates coming home late. He prefers coming home for dinner if he can, where the glorious smell of his wife’s cooking wafts through the house and the lady herself can be found waiting to greet him with a kiss in the kitchen. It’s the simplicity that he lives for, how he loves to just watch her work, loves the way she twists and turns about the room while trying to get everything ready. He knows trying to help would be a futile effort, but he always tries to anyway. Clara just simply smiles at him and pushes him back down on his chair, arguing that the least she can do is cook a meal for the man who runs the country. They make idle chatter as she finishes off the dinner and then make their way to the study after the meal is done, most nights, this is followed by an early bed where the couple does anything but sleep.

 It’s simple, it’s not anything to be remarked upon, yet the evenings Bradley spends with her is the only time that his Wrath is chased away, and he’s left open, raw, free. Clara has given him something truly special, and he loves her for it.

He frowns as he approaches the door, noting the way the light seeps out from under it. Surely it is too late for his wife to still be awake, she must have fallen asleep, he reasons, and forgot to turn the light off. But still, a sinking feeling grows in his stomach when he quietly pushes open the door to the room.

She’s sitting at the window sight as he enters, seemingly looking out of the window at nothing. But he notes the way her shoulders shake, how the tears fall silently down her face in an unbroken stream.

His first emotion is anger, which is no surprise. He wants to know who did this to her, wants to get his swords out and cut down any person who dared make his wife feel this way. He wants the satisfaction of making them beg, making them plead for their lives. He wants the sweet sound of another man’s blood dripping off his sword and leaving a puddle on the floor. He wants…

Bradley snaps himself out of that train of thought, knowing that doing any of that will not stop his wife crying in this current moment. He slowly moves forward, trying to push his anger down with each step he took towards her. He gently places a hand on her back, which makes her jump. She turns to face him before quickly turning away again, using her sleeves to mop away the rivers that had formed on her face.

“Oh, Brad dear, your home…what time is it?” Her voice comes out chocked, barely a fraction of its normal volume as she continues to violently wipe away the onslaught of tears which continue to pour down her face.

He runs a hand down her hair, trying to soothe her in some way, in any way that he could. “It’s late, love.” Bradley moves around her, crouching down in front of her and taking her hands, forcing her to look at him. He brings her hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of them, trying to push down the last bit of anger which simmered beneath the surface, “Clara, tell me what’s wrong.”

Clara looks at him for a long moment, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She chews her lip as if she’s trying to hold back whatever it is she has to say, ot think of the correct way in which she should say it. He watches as she takes a deep breath and finally looks him directly in the eyes, “I think I am broken.”

Bradley blinks, once, twice, as he tries to digest what she could possibly mean by that but does not want to press for more as it seems to have taken all her strength just to speak those words. Her shoulders sag, deflated and he rubs her arms soothingly as he waits for her to find the strength to carry on.

“Oh, Brad,” she sobs defeatedly, her shoulders sagging even more than he thought possible, “after all this time and I can’t even – the one thing I should be able to do for you as a wife and I _can’t_! I’ve failed you – and probably the country on top of that. I’m sorry my love. If you want to look elsewhere, I’ll understand – you deserve someone who can give you a family – oh!”

She trails off with a wail as her shoulders begin to shake with the new wave of tears. He takes a minute to digest her words, trying to make sense of her ramblings.

_You deserve someone who can give you a family._

“We can’t conceive.” He whispers, finally coming to the realisation of what was behind his wife’s sorrow. Children. Something that had been a whispered conversation in the early months of their marriage had become something that they’d tried to make a reality in the last few years but had no success. And she thought it her fault, that she was failing as a wife, as a _woman_ , by not giving him any children.

For the first time, his immediate reaction is not one of anger, but guilt. It’s his fault, he is the abomination, the experiment, the orphan who could only become someone when he was no longer a human. His Wrath follows somewhere behind his guilt, how could he do this to her – to the one person he loved. He had broken her, when all along it was him that was broken in the first place.

It pained him to see her like this. She fell forward into his chest and he let the onslaught of tears be soaked up by his shirt, her fists clenched around the material at his back as violent sobs racked her body. He could hear her gasping for air, suffocating with each breath she took as she tried to hold together her broken pride. He could feel his heart tearing in two and he could not tell her the truth of the matter which broke him even more. He ran his fingers through her hair, time and time again, whispering _it is not your fault, I will never leave you_ over and over like a mantra, trying desperately to calm the war within her mind.

He was broken, and he’d somehow managed to cut her open on his broken parts.

   

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first work for this fandom. Its not my best, but there's so little for this ship I wanted to post something. Hope you enjoyed!


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